


Hunting Separately

by disreputabledog



Series: Prompted Shorts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Stanford Era, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disreputabledog/pseuds/disreputabledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's gone, Dean's all grown up, and John wishes he hadn't noticed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting Separately

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinmymindforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinmymindforever/gifts).



When Sam walked out on the family, John was forced to acknowledge that his boys had grown up while he was busy chasing old blood. He wished he hadn't noticed. Without Sam to act as a buffer—without the other brother, other son to balance them—it was just John and Dean locked in desperate orbit. John knew Dean would do whatever he asked, with a "yes, sir" and squared shoulders. He tried so hard not to ask for the things that woke up him up sweating, choking back his son's name. It couldn't last.

Dean suspected. With Sammy gone, he didn't have anything better to do in his downtime than study his father. He saw the way John cleared his throat and looked away, over and over. The sense of power the realization gave him felt...good. He tested the waters, stripping his shirt off after successful hunts, asking John to double-check him for injuries, walking around their room in just a towel or boxers, wondering how far he could push things. Dean got his impulse control from his dad, after all.

The third time John walked in on his son jerking off because Dean hadn't locked the bathroom door, he knew he must be going crazy. When the bar tossed him out that night and he dragged himself back to the motel, Dean was waiting up for him in the dark. He staggered in the doorway but Dean caught him. John didn't want that strong arm helping him to bed, those weapon-calloused hands removing layers, that familiar face lowering to undo his boots, he couldn't, he shouldn't—but God help him, he did.

When it became clear John wasn't ready to take the bait, Dean eased up. He could play the long game. One week he'd "forget" to wash enough underwear and have to go commando, let his jeans ride low on his hips. The next week he'd offer to tune up the car, and he knew his dad's eyes were on his ass the whole time he spent under her hood. That night Dean came thinking about John taking him like that, pinned against her bared heart, hard and fast and dirty and wrong, scent of sex and engine grease.

John thought he used to be a decent man. At least, he could remember a time when he felt happy, peaceful. Now he was sustained only by his two obsessions—his dead wife and his shockingly alive son—and they were both slowly killing him. More late nights spent watching Dean sleep than researching. John dozed off on a paisley couch, awoke to a full lap, slick skin, hot breath—kissing Dean, kissing him back, who started it, not sure—bruising grip on lean hips, the son hard and wanting as the father.

They never talked about that night. They did the job; werewolf, vampire nest, half a dozen exorcisms. When they stopped at Bobby's for a breather and John saw Dean laugh properly for the first time since Sam left, something in him broke. He put down his beer, slung his weapons into the cab of a truck that was less than half rust, left his son and his car behind. Bobby called; he let it ring. John drove. When he found a Catholic church, he went to confession for the first time in twenty years.

Dean told Sam the whole story after John died. His brother wrapped around him on the hood of the car, listening gently as he tried to explain that it wasn't a bad thing, really. It was just a thing. Inevitable almost, like gravity. Sam was his anchor, and without him around Dean merely drifted. John was a comet, gone more than near, shaped like flame but so cold he could burn you. Dean had always thought his dad and brother were too alike to be safe, and half of Sam was better than none.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Vicky](http://alaynestone.tumblr.com/)'s [photo set](http://outofmymindbebackshortly.tumblr.com/post/40824110523/and-thats-when-john-decided-they-needed-to-start) and originally written on Tumblr in chunks sent to [Dee](http://outofmymindbebackshortly.tumblr.com)'s askbox. This isn't one of my usual ships but the idea wouldn't let me go. I hope I did the pairing justice.


End file.
